


Up Against the Wall

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JC falls for Joey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Against the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> I get inspired at work. You really don't want to know. It's JoeC (thanks, Catja!). Set around the "Pop" video shoot.

Joey pushes you against the wall. Before you can protest, his mouth covers yours, stealing breath and sanity at once.

You think, dazedly, that he shouldn't be upright. Not with his knee still giving him so much pain, and certainly not after he was hobbling all over the set and dancing more than he should have, and--

He growls softly into your ear, and you go boneless, the wall your only support -- the wall, and his hard, solid body, and you think, irreverently, _trapped between a rock and a hard place_ \--

You put your hands in his hair while he kisses your neck, licks it, nuzzles, until your skin feels supersensitized, overcharged. His hair is stiff, sticky with gel and hairspray from the video shoot; your long fingers tangle in it as his hands move down to your hips, bracing firm on either side, thumbs skating just under the hem.

"I like the shirt," he murmurs against your adam's apple. You grin, weakly, glad now that you charmed the wardrobe lady into letting you keep it.

"Yeah?" you prompt, hoping to elicit further praise for the one good fashion choice you've made in the past year.

"Yeah." He pulls back a little, smiles, and you somehow just know what he's going to say next: "It's gonna look even better crumpled up on the floor."

While you laugh at that, he lifts your wrists, holds them against the wall in one hand, over your head, and pulls upward on the hem with the other, exposing your chest. He tosses it away once your arms are out of it, and his palms skate over your skin, bare, naked, nipples pebbling under his touch, you feel like you're glowing all over, and your dick is mindless stone in your jeans, straining and eager for his heat.

* * *

Later, when you're falling asleep, you try to figure out when you fell for him. When his sloppy handwriting became endearing, when you began to look forward to having him cook for you not because his cooking was delicious (which it was, make no mistake about that) but because he was doing it for you, when his smiles started directing themselves your way, when you looked forward to seeing him.

You think it might have been going on for a while, but you're not sure. You know that things crystallized sharply when the accident happened, just a couple of nights ago. When the platforms were going up, the move you'd all practiced a thousand times already without incident, and his sudden sharp yell rang out, your blood froze in your veins. All the techs yelling to stop the machinery, and for a frightened fluttering heartbeat you feared the worst, that the platform wouldn't stop moving. You didn't make it there first; he was already hopping around, leaning on Anthony and cursing at the top of his lungs, when you slid in under his other arm and helped him to sit down, and he squeezed your arm so tight you thought the skin would burst. His face was ghastly, pale.

You went with him in the ambulance, not caring who saw or what conclusions might have been drawn. Another time, maybe, you might have thought about it, but this time you just couldn't focus on anything beyond his health, his pain, the fucking gaping hole in his leg. Despite your dislike of needles and general antipathy to hospitals, you went in there and let him squeeze your hand when the staples were put in, while his father looked on anxiously. And if anyone thought anything of it, nothing was voiced, for which you were grateful.

Then everyone had to think of a solution to the problem that this had caused, because you were shooting the new video tomorrow and Joey obviously wouldn't be capable of doing all the requisite dancing. An acceptable solution was found in Wade, and yeah, he worked for the video, and you put your best face on it and smiled throughout the shooting, but fuck if you didn't miss Joey that whole first day. It's a fucked-up dynamic with Wade doing Joey's steps, dressed like Joey, made up to look like Joey, but so so not Joey, could never be Joey. And then you knew how bad you had it for him, and you wondered what the hell you were going to do when he came back to the set and saw you practically glowing with happiness because he was back.

And he saw it. Everyone was glad he was back, Justin and Lance and Chris (who went off and fucked around with the motorized scooter so he wouldn't have to talk to the cameras about how he felt, pretty smart move on his part, you thought), but you were the most obvious, and you couldn't hide it at all. You followed him around, getting things out of his way, making sure he was comfortable. You were sitting by him waiting to shoot his green screen sequence, and he leaned over to you and gripped the back of your neck, and quietly said, "thanks," and you couldn't help grinning, looking down for a second, feeling like a flustered girl. You thought he might kiss you, his mouth was so close to yours, but you knew he had to be aware of how public your location was, and the MTV cameras made privacy even less thinkable, so he gave you a smile instead that promised much, and the camera crew came by so you started goofing on the dance moves for the instrumental break.

* * *

After the shoot, you were immensely proud of how much effort he put into the final dance sequence on the high platform. You could tell he was hurting, but he sucked it up, making jokes about his tetanus shot and if he was going to get bit on the ass again he wanted it to be by a naked girl, and everyone laughed but he looked at you afterwards and you thought the fire in his eyes was going to burn you up. You were immensely glad that you were wearing black pants, thankful because they hid a multitude of sins. Even though you've had to deal with that particular painful problem a lot -- fucking dick has a mind of its own, and tends to get excited at the most inappropriate moments -- you still ended up moving back behind the others during the free-style shots, because all you needed was one more crotch-shot captured for posterity. You caught Joey looking at you during one of those moments, and you shared a private smile. _Later_.

* * *

And now, finally, he's tugging your pants down and your aching dick is free, the relief at its release nearly enough to bring you off. Joey starts to get down on his knees. You pull at his shoulders, trying to stop him, stubborn one-track-minded pigheaded -- "Joe, your knee," you breathe, astonished at his determination. Amazed that he's just doing this, like you've been lovers for years, as if this fire hasn't ignited in you both in the space of a few hours. You know you were always attracted to guys as well as girls, but you always thought Joey was straight, and you don't want him pushing himself into your first encounter.

He winces but stands, and you see, for an instant, the pain that's been simmering behind his eyes all day. "Come on," you say, "take a painkiller and we'll lay down."

"I want to feel everything," he says, and that right there is fucking sexy. You push your shoes off, get your ankles out of jeans and socks, and reach for his shirt.

"Okay, but you have to lie down. You can't be straining your knee anymore."

"All right," and he lets you pull him to the bed, and you wonder if he's weirded out that you're naked and he's not. He doesn't seem to mind. You crawl over him, stripping him of his shirt, undoing the fly of his knee-length shorts, noticing that he's definitely enjoying this as much as you are. The hardness inside his boxers makes you want to taste him now. You unsnap them, put your hand inside, stroking the silky stiffness, and he hisses and arches up to your hand.

"Yeah, C," he mumbles, and you know that all resistance is gone now. You want to show him how much you care, how much he means to you, so you take your time blowing him. He's utterly responsive, appreciative, his hands flexing in your hair, and while you're licking him you wonder if he's wanted to touch you as much as you wanted to touch him.

You think maybe he did, because when you all came back to the hotel after the shoot, he rode in the Explorer with you, sitting next to you, good leg pressed against yours, and in the elevator he leaned on you with an arm around your waist like he was tired and falling asleep already. And when you opened the door to his room, he was the one who pulled you inside, dropped his cane and started kissing you and pressed you up to the wall, so you think that yeah, he must have been wanting this too.

His breathing speeds up, he makes the most erotic noises, open-mouthed, with his eyes shut tight and his lips twitching, and you think you've never seen anything so beautiful. When he comes, his expression is one of astonishment. You like the taste of him, like it a lot, and you're perversely glad that the accident happened, because you think that if it hadn't, you might not have been able to show Joey how you feel about him.

"Jesus, Jace," he says, when you raise your head to look at him. "Where the fuck did you learn to do that?"

You shrug, smile. "Here and there."

"Come here." He pulls you up, settling you into an embrace, his body still warm and thrumming from the orgasm. His hand slides hotly over your arm, across your chest, fingers moving down to touch you, and your dick jumps in his hand, glad to be remembered at last.

You feel like you should offer a token protest, like, "you don't have to," but the words melt on your lips when his hand starts to move on you, heated, gliding, a little slick with pre-come. Instead, you whisper his name, allow him to push you to your back, let him get a better angle so he can put his other hand on your balls, and even though he's partially resting on the injured leg, you don't even have the power of speech to stop him.

It's all intense, his hands, and his body so close, and the fact that it's him and that you've been wanting him for longer now than you can recall, and so it doesn't take very much time for you to come at all. He makes some chuckling comment about your lack of stamina, but you just smile back and kiss him. This time, it's tender, and sweet, and you relish the tickle of his goatee brushing against your chin. You run a hand through his hair, and offer to get his meds.

* * *

So later, when you think about when you fell for him and if he feels the same way, and all those things, as you're falling into sleep, you manage to ask him if he's okay with being with a guy. Being with you, you mean but can't say. He's got his back to your chest, got you curled up against him with his arm firmly around your waist, and he kisses your shoulder.

"First time for everything," he murmurs, thoughtful. You think that's a good thing. You certainly hope so, anyway.


End file.
